


Goodbye To The Bees

by IneffableHusbands95



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Experienced John Watson, First Kiss, First Time, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, there are bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableHusbands95/pseuds/IneffableHusbands95
Summary: When a hotel booking goes awry the boys are forced to share a bed on a case, leading to a passionate night that changes the course of their lives and hearts forever.But, as is customary when Sherlock Holmes is involved, things are not quite as they seem.Sinful smut with a generous splash of fluff and feelings for good measure.If there was ever a fic I would go to hell for, its this one.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 309





	Goodbye To The Bees

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks in the world to the incredible Kat aka SherlockWatson_Homes, who gave me the prompt for this fic and did me the honor of being my beta. Without her this fic wouldn't have been possible!  
> Kat- I hope I did you proud. C. Xx.  
> This is my first ever Johnlock fic, so I hope you guys enjoy! If you do let me know, there's plenty more where this came from!

When Lestrade had phoned offering the pair a last-minute case late one afternoon, John had made the stupid mistake of allowing Sherlock to book their travel and lodging arrangements for once.

After leaving Rosie with Mrs Hudson, the three-hour drive to their destination had been mostly silent. Or at least it had for John, who spent most of it dozing in the passenger seat while pretending to look interested in some science lecture Sherlock was giving him about the latest body part he had put in their microwave while driving.

They were going to have to have a serious conversation about his misusing their kitchen as a lab later, John decided.

When they finally arrived, John was awoken by a long finger poking him in the side, accompanied by an impatient sigh.  
It was quite late. He realized upon glancing at his watch that clearly Sherlock had gotten them lost at some point.

"Do come along, John, I've examined corpses more lively than you" Sherlock called over his shoulder in the dark as he trudged toward the hotel with long purposeful strides, his suitcase bumping along the pavement aggressively behind him.

John scowled as he heaved his own bag out of the boot, and stumbled to catch up with him.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the excessive ego stroking you received from Lestrade because he was desperate for someone to take the case, would it Sherlock?" he muttered under his breath as he caught the heavy wooden door that the detective had neglected to hold open for him.

When they reached the rather old and tired looking lobby of the small bed and breakfast, the middle-aged woman behind the counter failed to notice them, too busy painting her nails instead.

Sherlock suddenly screwed up his face, appearing to notice for the first time that they were surrounded by at least a half dozen cats, who were perched on every available surface-the counter included- staring at them.

After remaining ignored for several moments, John cleared his throat loudly and the woman, who's clothes were covered in cat fur, John noticed, jumped almost comically high in the air.

Flustered, she readjusted her glasses before greeting them.  
"Ah, I see you have selected our honeymoon suite, how lovely.  
Congratulations to you both!"

She smiled, handing Sherlock the room key.

John's jaw dropped open, and his stomach sunk, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

He slowly turned to stare at Sherlock, who simply shrugged and ran a hand through his dark curls. John could tell he was just as shocked but was doing a far more convincing job than he was of appearing composed.

"I'm very sorry, but there must be some mistake. We did not book a honeymoon suite" John squeaked out when his brain regained the ability to form coherent thoughts again.

The woman appeared perplexed and shook her head.

"No, that is definitely the room selection listed on your booking, and I'm afraid we have no other available rooms tonight."

John cleared his throat. Well this was going to be interesting.

"That is quite alright, we will manage just fine I'm sure."

Hesitantly, he turned away and headed for their room, Sherlock trailing along beside him.

Casting a furtive glance at the younger man, John observed Sherlock's arms folded across his chest, his brows knit into a frown that he couldn't quite decipher, but he tried not to dwell on it.

After all he doubted his own expression was much better at that moment, and Sherlock Holmes never missed a detail.

When they finally located room 311, the first thing John noticed was the note taped to the door announcing that the room's heating was down.

Brilliant, he thought, that was just what they needed.

Sherlock took the key card from John and swiped it through the slot.

Upon the door swinging open John swore colourfully and felt his cheeks turn crimson.

Sherlock visibly stiffened and John heard his breath hitch.

The room before them was like something out of a romance movie.

It was cozy, with exquisite vintage furniture and arched windows that looked out over the countryside, two armchairs nestled into a nook on the opposite wall.

But front and centre on a little platform was the bed, an obnoxiously large wooden four poster affair complete with silk canopy.

Blood red rose petals had been strewn all over the bed and carpet, forming heart shapes, and there was a huge bottle of champagne leaning on the countless velvet pillows.

Suddenly, it hit John that there was only the one bed, and his heart began thundering in his chest so loudly he was scared Sherlock could hear it.

His own reaction perplexed him.

It was just Sherlock after all, wasn't it?

Sherlock's mouth open and closed a few times before words finally followed.

"Well this is...inconvenient" he finally muttered; brows knitted together as he took in the scented candles lit on every available surface.

"You can bloody well say that again. That's the last time I let you book anything, Sherlock! How much did this even cost?"

"Quite a significant sum, which did seem a little odd at the time. Not to worry though John, I used your card" he smiled helpfully.

John sighed as they finally entered the room and pulled the door shut, tossing their luggage onto the rack at the foot of the bed.

Suddenly, he was all too aware of how close they were standing to each other in the intimately lit room, so close he could smell the musky cologne Sherlock was wearing.

With nowhere else to look their gazes locked, the candlelight dancing across their faces, an impossibly loud silence stretching out into infinity between them.

Their strange staring competition had gone on for several moments before they went their separate ways to change.

"Well," Sherlock began upon returning to the room, "I will take the floor John, and you may take the bed."

John felt a pang of guilt.

"Sherlock, you don't have to do that."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I am the one that made the error, John. Please, I insist."

John nodded, but raised an eyebrow to himself, surprised at the unusually chivalrous gesture.

After blowing out the candles and banishing all the rose petals and champagne, John turned down the huge bed and climbed in, passing down some pillows and a spare blanket that Sherlock then used to create a makeshift bed on the floor.

"Goodnight, John" Sherlock murmured in the dark.  
"Night then, Sherlock" he echoed.

For some reason, even just the thought of sleeping in the same room as the detective was making John feel self-conscious.

But after all this was only Sherlock.

It was true that they had been through a lot together and grown much closer after Sherlock's 'death' and Mary's murder.

But they had only ever been friends.

Friendship was all they had ever wanted; all John had needed.

That was still true, wasn't it?

After an hour had passed. John suddenly became aware of a faint noise coming from the floor.

It was coming from Sherlock, he realized suddenly. The man was shivering so much on the cold floor under the thin blanket that his teeth were chattering.

John paused, knowing full well what he had to do, but needing a moment to muster the courage to do it.

"Sherlock?" he whispered into the darkness.

"Yes, John?"

"Would you please come up here? You are going to freeze your ass off down there and catch pneumonia. There is more than enough room in this ridiculous sodding bed for us both."

He held his breath, unsure how the other man would react.

"I suppose that would be the most practical course of action" Sherlock replied after an agonizingly long moment of silence.

John waited patiently for several moments, and still Sherlock's silhouette had not moved.

"I won't bite you Sherlock. Come and get warm you daft git, its below freezing."

He watched as the younger man rose hesitantly from the floor, and lowered himself onto the opposite side of the bed, remaining stiff.

John gently lifted the blanket up and over both of their cold bodies. It was quite thin, but still better than nothing.

"There you go" he laughed, rolling onto his side to look at Sherlock.

"Thank you, John" he replied, and the doctor could see just well enough in the darkness to witness a small grateful smile ghost across Sherlock's lips.

"You're welcome" John whispered, his eyes connecting with Sherlock's again for a moment in that funny way they had earlier, sending a shiver down his spine.

John was unsure what to do next. What was the protocol in these sorts of situations?

"Sleep well, John" Sherlock murmured as he rolled over to face the other way, making the decision for him.

John closed his eyes and tried to sleep, all too conscious of the other man lying within arm’s reach next to him and his heart beating much faster than it ought to in his chest.

After a moment he realized that the detective's body was still trembling.

"Still cold then? Come here."

John moved over and tentatively spooned Sherlock's back.

He had no clue why he had just done that, but somehow it felt...right.

Sherlock's breathing halted for a moment, and he went rod stiff before slowly relaxing against John.

"We will warm up faster this way. Is this alright?" John whispered.

Every point where their bodies made contact buzzed like a thousand bees within him, and he did his best to ignore it, but it was hard.

"Y..yes, quite alright" Sherlock eventually answered, his voice so quiet John almost didn't hear the words despite their closeness.

John realized that the buzzing was not entirely unpleasant, and decided to test the waters further.

Very slowly he lifted his arm and curled it around Sherlock's middle, able to feel the exact moment Sherlock's breathing quickened at the contact.

"What about this?" he whispered into Sherlock's ear.

"I am not opposed to that either."

They lay there like that for a few minutes, and John realized that he strangely enjoyed being able to feel Sherlock's stomach rise and fall beneath his hand, the feeling of his breathing settling into a calmer rhythm.

Suddenly John registered a slight movement, and then a large hand slowly entwined with his.

He gasped silently, and his heart jumped into his throat.

Was this really happening?

Sherlock turned over to face him, and suddenly they were so close that John could feel his breath on his face, see the moonlight glittering in those startling eyes of his.

Sherlock raised a hand and smoothed it along John's cheek, tracing a line down to just short of his lips.

"And would you, John Watson, be opposed to this?" Sherlock breathed.

With his eyes locked on John's he closed the tiny gap between them and brought his lips down to meet his.

John gasped against Sherlock's full, warm lips.

For a moment he was too startled to move his own, to overcome by the bolt of lightning that zipped right through his very core at the touch.

The bees that had inhabited him until now had fled, chased from their hive by an all-consuming smoke.

Then, all at once, the smoke cleared.

John raised a shaky hand to cover Sherlock's where it still rested on his flushed cheek, and began to return the caress of his lips.

When it first began the kiss was soft, innocent, experimental.

This was new territory for both of them after all, and neither man had a map.

That ended as soon as John accidentally nipped Sherlock's bottom lip with a tooth.

Gone was the calm, passion taking its place.

John attentively licked away the droplet of scarlet blood that beaded on the man's lip, before his tongue turned its attention to the seam of Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock did not hesitate to bid him entrance, and in a fraction of a moment they were exploring each other's mouths in a whole new way.

One groan from Sherlock into his open mouth was all it took to kick John into full gear.

He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and rolled them both forcefully, until he was perched atop the detective.

Sherlock gasped, clearly just as aware of the matching hardness now pressing against his own as John was.

John looked down at him with pupils blown wide with lust as he rushed to pull his shirt over his head so that he could reclaim Sherlock's swollen lips.

Sherlock's hands found John's bare chest as they kissed, long cold fingers trailing down his chest, tangling in the patch of slightly grey hair there.

John hissed when his fingernail scraped a nipple, his lips turning their attention to the side of Sherlock's pale neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin.

"Oh god, John, that is _marvelous_ " Sherlock moaned, tilting back his head to give John better access, arching into his touch.

"Too many clothes. Get this shirt off _now_ " John hissed, pulling it off and flinging it to the floor as soon as Sherlock raised his arms.

John felt desire stir deep within him at the sight of Sherlock's lean but lightly toned chest.

But before he could act on it Sherlock took over, leaning up to place wet, open mouthed kisses to his own, slowly working his way down John's body until his lips met the trail of hair that disappeared beneath his trousers.

Sherlock stopped suddenly and pulled back, as though he had just come back to himself and realized what was happening.

"What is it, Sherlock? What's wrong?" John whispered, peering into his widened eyes.

"N... nothing" Sherlock stammered, his cheeks reddening. "Only that I have...never done this before. Not even with a woman, let alone a man."

John laughed and smiled sweetly, feeling relieved it wasn't something he had done as he ran a hand up Sherlock's trembling arm.

"I figured as much. You do know you are safe with me, don't you Sherlock? We don't have to take this any further than you want to. The second you feel uncomfortable just tell me to stop and we will, no questions asked."

An uneasy smile played across Sherlock's lips, and John felt him relax a little beneath him.

"So, you have? Done this with men?"

John laughed, placing a little kiss to the tip of Sherlock's graceful nose.

"Yes, a few times. I was in the army, remember? A group of young men trapped together for weeks at a time eventually turn to... creative means of alleviating boredom."

"At least I know I am in good hands, then" Sherlock grinned, making John snort.

He reached for Sherlock's lips again, sliding a hand down the length of Sherlock's body until it settled over the bulge in his pants.

If it was anything like his own it had to be getting painful by now, and that was not how he wanted Sherlock to remember this experience.

Sherlock gasped into John's mouth as he began to slowly rub at it with a cupped hand, creating just the slightest bit of friction.

After a few moments of enjoying his hisses of pleasure John slid down Sherlock's trousers until just his underwear remained and moved down his body until his hand could be replaced with his mouth.

"Dear god John!" Sherlock moaned as the older man pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to his barely clothed cock, his pale hips bucking wildly off the bed with every touch.

John decided he had never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

He shucked off his own underwear, laughing at the wonder filled eyes that fell to his erection, before pausing with his hand on the waistband of Sherlock’s.

“May I, Sherlock?” he asked as he searched his eyes, voice so husky he almost didn’t recognize it as his own.

Sherlock gazed back up at him and nodded, biting his lip.  
“Yes, please.”

John smiled and slowly slid them down Sherlock’s legs, inch by inch, until his impressively large cock sprang up to his belly, flushed and hard.

He sat back for a moment, drinking in the sight before him, the whole picture finally revealed in all its glory.

The moonlight spilling in the window bathed Sherlock’s body in an ethereal glow reminiscent of a priceless sculpture, every glorious curve and muscle a work of art.

John briefly wondered if he was dreaming.

“What are you staring at?”

“You, Sherlock Holmes. I’m staring at you, and you’re bloody _beautiful_.”

Sherlock blushed, and was about to answer, but was silenced when John’s mouth found his cock.

With one hand around the throbbing member, John began to lick blazing trails up it from base to tip, pausing to dip his tongue into the bead of precum gathering at the slit.

“Fucking _hell_ , John!” Sherlock cried out, mouth falling open.

John closed his mouth around it and began to bob up and down, the detective’s hips flying off the bed.

Sherlock’s hands wound into his hair as he picked up the pace, and John moaned around his cock when he tugged hard on it to guide his movements.

Sherlock began to thrust into the wet heat engulfing him, and John managed to swallow down most of him without his gag reflex kicking in.

He only allowed the whole thing to last a couple of minutes, not wanting things to be over before they began, slipping off with an indecent pop.

His fingers traced down the cleft of Sherlock’s ass, making the undone younger man shiver under him.

“One moment, I’ll be right back” he rasped, reluctantly untangling himself from Sherlock and crossing the room to his bag on shaky legs, his body-and the bees- already protesting the lack of contact.

Sherlock watched him curiously as he dug through his suitcase until he triumphantly retrieved a bottle of lube.

He saw no need for protection- he knew he was clean, and Sherlock obviously would be.

Climbing back onto the bed he resumed his earlier position atop Sherlock, giggling at the wary way the man was eyeing the bottle in his hand.

“Relax, Sherlock. I’ve got you- I am a doctor, remember?” he grinned, gesturing to himself.

Sherlock nodded, managing a smile.

John squeezed a generous amount of the substance into his hand, coating his fingers and rubbing it between them to warm it.

Keeping his eyes trained on Sherlock the whole time he very slowly began to trace the puckered skin over and over.

Sherlock gasped, but made no effort to stop him.

He ran a hand down Sherlock’s side for a moment, to calm him.

“Alright, now just try to relax for me, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Very slowly John applied pressure until his finger slipped inside.

“Shit!” Sherlock gasped, grabbing John’s arms with white knuckles, but within moments of John slowly working his finger in and out the gasp turned to moans.

Gradually John added a second digit alongside the first, Sherlock bucking up against his hand in a desperate attempt to draw them as far into himself as humanly possible.

Eventually he withdrew them, returning to the lube and applying it to himself.

Leaning over Sherlock he stroked a razor-sharp cheekbone.

“Sherlock are you sure this is what you want? We can stop right here” he whispered.

The man nodded, smiling softly and turning his head to kiss John’s hand.

“Yes, John Watson, I am. You are exactly what I want.”

Warmth flooded John’s body at the words.

He lined the head of his cock up with Sherlock’s entrance, and slowly pushed the tip inside, groaning at the glorious heat.

Sherlock moaned loudly as John gradually slid deeper until he bottomed out, John tossing his head back at the feeling of finally being completely buried inside him.

John remained that way for a moment, giving Sherlock time to adjust to the sensation.

The bees had returned, only now they were _excited_.

“ _Move_ already for Christ’s sake, John!” Sherlock ground out, breaking him from his trance.

John crushed his lips to his and began to slowly thrust himself into Sherlock’s heat.

“Fuck, Sherlock, you’re so bloody tight!” John moaned against his lips as he slammed into him.

Silently he hoped he was going to be able to last a decent amount of time. It had be a _while_.

Sherlock began to make a series of filthy noises as they worked up into a steady rhythm, digging his nails so hard into John’s back as he clung on for dear life it hurt.

There was nothing left of the world but the two of them, and John had forgotten how to breathe suddenly, the air around them sizzling.

"Want to see a cool trick?" John whisper-laughed into Sherlock's ear.

There was no harm in him making Sherlock's first time amusing for himself, right?

"What kind of tr....oh _fuck_!" Sherlock yelled when John adjusted his angle to drive a well aimed thrust that hit his sweet spot with perfect accuracy.

John cackled-that was one advantage to years of giving prostate exams. 

"Do that _again,_ John" Sherlock hissed, and John happily obliged. 

When Sherlock's moans became more desperate a few moments later, John was unsure how much time had passed.

Had it been minutes, or was it hours? Days?

“Oh _god_ John I’m going to…I can’t…” Sherlock gasped out as his orgasm took him, painting hot stripes between their bellies.

The feeling of Sherlock's body contracting around him tipped John over the edge, and then he was coming as well, spurting his release hot and hard deep inside his body.

Everything went white and static around him as he shuddered, repeating Sherlock's name over and over like a sacred prayer.

John pulled out and collapsed on top of him, fresh air finally returning to his burning lungs.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around them both and they lay that way for a while, the only sound in the room their ragged breaths and racing hearts as the world slowly came back into focus.

A strange feeling had settled over John.

His whole life he had felt as though he was not quite whole, as though a piece of him was missing that he could not name.

Not even Mary had been able to fill it.

But now he was, finally, complete.

“Wow” Sherlock breathed, breaking the silence.

“Wow? I just rocked your world and that’s all you can say?” John grinned, laughing giddily into the side of Sherlock’s neck.

“For now, yes. Everything is still coming back online.”

John raised a scandalized brow and reached for an abandoned shirt to begin cleaning up their mess.

“Thank you, John.”

John’s hand stilled mid wipe.

“For what, my love?” he whispered, placing a hand over Sherlock’s thundering heart.

“For existing. For being patient and caring enough to take the time to bring down all my walls, even the ones I didn’t know I had. For staying, even after I broke your heart.”

He paused for a moment, and John saw moisture gathering in his green-blue eyes.

“But most of all, for…being the best thing that has ever happened to me, John Hamish Watson.”

A single tear slid down his cheek.

John kissed it away tenderly, and then they were both crying softly, holding each other so tightly in the darkness no force on heaven or earth could ever tear them apart.

“But there is something I ought to tell you, John.”

“There is? What would that be?” John asked, squinting at the devilish grin on Sherlock’s face.

“The whole mix up that left us sleeping in this room. That wasn’t an accident.”

John gasped and smacked him.

“But the conveniently broken heating was a masterstroke that I agreed to credit to Gladys downstairs. The rose petals and champagne were her too. Also, there is no case. I arranged for Lestrade to call us. The whole thing was a set up.”

"But how did you know I would invite you to share the bed?" John asked, brow furrowed.

"I didn't. But you are renowned for being too kind for you own good, so I figured if I made a whole show of being cold the chances were pretty high."

“You sneaky, devious bastard!” John hissed out between bouts of side-splitting laughter.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled John up to his lips, capturing them for another slow, indulgent kiss.

John noted that until that precise moment ‘bliss’ had been just a word.

He pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s and closed his eyes.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“As do I, John Watson. I think perhaps I always have.”

John said goodbye to the bees.

He wouldn’t be needing their help anymore.


End file.
